Shatter
by XForgottenxMemoryX
Summary: I'm sorry. I won't ask for your forgiveness. I don't need it. Just know that it was my fault, and I'm sorry for it. I thought I could deal with this... but I can't. Not anymore. xxCharacter deathxx


This is the revised version of _Shatter_. After rereading the first version, I came to the conclusion that it was absolutely, undeniably, horrendously_ pathetic_—so much so that I felt like gouging my eyes out to spare myself the agony of having to read it. Yeah, it was _that_ bad. And some of you actually _liked_ that shit? God, kill me now.

**EDIT**: Yeah, so I made a few minor changes to this. It's pretty much all the same, though some things are worded differently and a few words/sentences were added in. You don't really need to read it again...

**Warning:** Character death by suicide. If you can't handle that, get the fuck out.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Gakuen Alice—or Alice Academy, if you prefer—and I never shall. Sadly, only Tachibana Higuchi can claim that.

+**Shatter**+

With a bitter smile, Mikan stared at the mirror in front of her. Hollow, shadowed eyes stared back. She had to laugh at that. Was that her? It didn't look like the person she used to be. But she'd changed, hadn't she? Changed so much that she didn't even recognize herself any more. Hell, the others probably didn't, either. But they pretended not to notice the change, for her sake if nothing else.

Well, that didn't really matter to her. After all, she wasn't their _Mikan-chan_ any more. Who the hell _was_ she now? Mikan didn't know. Everything was so dull… she didn't pay attention any more. There didn't seem to be a point, after he died. Oh, how the mere thought of _him_ brought tears to her eyes and a burn to her throat. Just thinking of _him_ was causing the old phantom pain in her chest to ignite with a fury like never before. The others didn't feel like this. They'd already put it behind themselves, chose to forgive and forget. But she couldn't. Not Mikan. Because, damn it all, it was all her fault.

It was, wasn't it? She'd been his executioner, in the end. Her hands were stained with his blood, and damn her if she let herself forget that for even a moment.

It had been two years, two _damn_ years since his death—no, his _murder._ There really wasn't any other word for it. He'd been murdered in cold blood, and she was the one to do it. Fuck, but she couldn't forget. Every waking moment—and hell, even her sleep—was filled with thoughts of him, memories of that night. The surprise at her presence. The hurt on his face when he realised why she was there. The look of pure betrayal in his eyes as he stared into the face of death. The way the light died from his eyes and blood pooled around his body when he fell was forever etched into her memory. He didn't cry, he didn't plead. He didn't make a sound, and that was the worst of all. He'd only stared at her with that _look_ in his eyes, a gaze so intense that she'd actually taken a step back before steeling herself for what she had to do.

And oh, how she hated herself for it.

_I am a murderer._

She told herself that, and strangely… she didn't care. Not that she was a murderer, at least. She'd already known that. Hell, if she wanted to be technical about it, she'd been a murderer since she was thirteen years old, _thank you very much_. Ever since The Bastard Who Lives to Torment had her transferred. No, being a murderer didn't affect her any more.

It was that fact that it was _him_ that bothered her so much.

Swearing loudly, Mikan slammed her fist into the mirror. Then, far too calmly, she stared at the blood staining her knuckles. _It doesn't hurt any more._ It didn't, not really. Physical pain had long faded to a dim ache. And oh Gods, how many times had she lost control like this? She'd had to replace more than a few mirrors because of it. After two years, her anger was too hard to control any more. Not that she cared, really. It was nice to have something to take it out on. And besides, the dull throb of pain was just enough to distract her from her previous thoughts.

Although…

The sound of a gentle _tap tap_ interrupted her thoughts. Sighing, Mikan glanced at the door.

"Mikan?"

It was Hotaru, of course. She'd been checking up on Mikan more often lately. Well, Mikan couldn't care less. She knew that Hotaru was just worried, and yet she couldn't find the strength to do anything about it. What did it matter to her if Hotaru wouldn't listen when she said she was _okay_?

_Please.. just leave me alone, Hotaru._

"Mikan, let me in."

After a long moment of silence, a frustrated sigh sounded from the other side of the door.

"Damn it, Mikan, open the door!"

As if. Mikan knew that if she opened the door while Hotaru was angry with her, she wouldn't hear the end of it. It was better to just ignore her all together. She could hardly find the energy to be concerned about her friends any more. They liked to happily pretend that everything was okay, as if they weren't fucking _breaking_—or already _broken_—over The Incident. Well, Mikan wouldn't pretend. She couldn't. There wasn't any hope for her, and her friends knew it.

So why the hell couldn't they let it rest already?

"_I'm sorry, Mikan. I'm so sorry."_

Listening as soft footsteps slowly faded, Mikan held her breath. When the sounds finally stopped, she sagged tiredly against the wall. Blinking furiously as tears blurred her vision, she wished it would all stop. She couldn't _take_ this any more. It wasn't _fair_, and it hurt _so fucking bad_.

_Hotaru, you shouldn't be the one apologising. Everything is my fault, you know? But you just can't let it go. I'm sorry I've made you worry, but there isn't any reason for it. I'm sorry, Ruka. I'm sorry, everyone. I'm sorry. I can't stand this any more. I won't ask for your forgiveness. I don't need it. Just know that it was my fucking fault, and I'm sorry for it. But not any more._

No, not any more.

With slow, quiet steps, Mikan walked over to her dresser and slid open the second drawer. There, she felt around until a soft _clink_ caught her attention, and she pulled the object out with a hollow imitation of a smile. She held it up to the light, watching the silver glint with an unreadable expression.

_My best friend._

Right. The small, sharp knife had been her closest companion over the last two years. One look at the inside of her wrists was proof of that.

In a familiar movement, Mikan brought the knife to her wrist. Slowly, carefully, like all the other times she brought her friend out, Mikan pulled the edge across her wrist. Barely a second passed before beads of blood welled up and slid down her arm, dripping down her arm fairly quickly. That knife was her favourite, because its edge was the sharpest and required the least pressure. It was so much easier that way. Shaking out of her thoughts, Mikan moved the tip of the knife down to rest closer to the sensitive skin right before her palm. Contemplating, she stared down at her fragile wrist. _Should I?_ Nothing mattered any more. _No one would care—not really_. And she would be able to see _him_ again.

_This is goodbye, then._

With more pressure than she'd ever put into it before, Mikan slid the knife across her wrist. Before she could change her mind, she brought the knife down twice more. Fascinated, she watched as blood gushed out of the ugly gashes. They was deep—too deep, she knew. Whether she wanted it or not, it was going to happen now. No going back, then, eh? Oh, sure, she could use the healing alice she'd nicked a few months back. But where was the fun in _that_? So, resigned but not worried at all, Mikan tried to ignore the world already tilting around her and walked slowly, clumsily, over to her bed. Fairly _flopping_ onto it, she groaned. Was it just _her_, or was the room spinning? Oh, and she felt… dizzy, or was it sleepy? Already? Were the wounds really _that_ deep?

_Huh, I guess so..._

Unable to deal with the black spots slowly creeping into her vision, Mikan closed her eyes. Maybe if she rested a bit, they would go away. As she lay there, memories suddenly assaulted her. Of _him_. Her first day at the Academy, when he'd made a right arse of himself by acting like the bastard everyone thought him to be. All the times he'd called her _Polka Dots_ or _Strawberries_. The sudden kiss they'd shared on that Christmas all those years ago. The day she'd found his alice stone in her room. His smile, so rare, so fleeting. His worry after she was infected by Persona's alice. The look of hurt and betrayal on his face two years ago. His lifeless body laying in his own blood, slain by her hand.

"_Please,_" Mikan murmured quietly, "please, _forgive_ me..."

_Natsume…_

**End**

If you're wondering, it took Mikan much longer to bleed out than the end made it sound. She was emotional and extremely depressed, and the flood of memories at the end lasted longer than it seemed. She didn't die right after thinking his name, either. Mikan faded into unconsciousness, and later died of blood-loss before her friends broke in and found her a few hours later. It just seemed slightly ridiculous to add that in, so...

So.. this is the second revision of _Shatter_. It really isn't all that different, as I stated before the story. Just a few corrections for things that bothered me.

But hey, I'd like to hear what _you_ think.


End file.
